She had never fled so far, so fast, and so quickly. Yet her barefooted legs seemed to eat up the distance as if it were nothing. It was so subjective to her that it literally seemed thus: One moment, she was in the midst of the swamp where the hospital was situated; the next moment, the streets of London, miles away from where she had been, had claimed her. She did the only thing she could think of: She continued to run. She dashed through the streets, ignoring the puzzled and confused looks of people she sprinted past. She darted left, then right, then left, and then down an alleyway purely at random. Moments later she found herself at a dead end, where a building several stories high stretched upward, defying her forward egress. “’Ere now!” It was a voice from the far end of the alleyway. She spun and saw that a puzzled policeman was standing there, staring at her in confusion. He had his black club out and was gently tapping it against his palm.
